Too Much Time On My Hands: The Fullmetal Edition
by thisgirlscribes
Summary: DRABBLES Taking a little bit of every random idea and putting it in one place? Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time...
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own peanuts.

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"I can't wear this, Hermione," said Edward, holding up the blue frilly… thing between one thumb and finger distastefully. It truly was disgusting; the kind of thing that looked good only on a hanger and Hermione had probably been bought without even trying it on.

"Why not?" Hermione asked, looking rather affronted that her offer of clothes had been rejected.

"Well, for one thing, I don't wear short sleeves. And for a second, this thing is _disgusting_. I'd sooner go outside in my bathrobe than wear _this_."

Hermione huffed, snatching the top away from Edward and turning back to the drawer, rummaging through the piles of clothing once more. She seemed to be growing more and more frustrated with every top she pulled out and discarded, growling under her breath and muttering angrily. Edward felt it was time to step in when she pulled out yet another tank top and discarded it without even looking at it. Ed snatched the black material out of the air and, leaning over Hermione's shoulder, plunged his arm into the drawer and pulled out a long-sleeved red shirt he had noticed earlier.

"Thanks Hermione. This'll do."

Edward practically ran from the room, clattering down the stairs and leaping over the banister, diving into the bathroom just ahead of a tall redhead. She slammed the door behind her and leant against it, breathing a sigh of relief. Gah. Merlin knew she was a nice enough girl, but did she ever just _stop_ for a moment? Edward shook her head amusedly and dumped the clothes on the floor, turning the shower on.

She was rather quick with her wash, carefully making sure that no water got trapped in the ends of her/his fingers or in the crook of her elbow. It wouldn't do the mechanism any harm, but it was rather a hassle to try and explain away the puddles of water she left everywhere when she forgot to dry it out.

It was as she was fiddling with her hair, debating on whether to alchemise it dry or just plait it and let it dry naturally when she heard her name being called.

"Ed? Ed, dear, there's someone here to see you. Can you come downstairs please?"

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**Author's Notes:** This is something that jus randomly popped into my head. Yes, Edward is a girl. There's no real point to this, but I like it because it flows so nicely. A random piece of writing that I enjoyed doing. 


	2. Of Cats and Godric Gryffindor

Disclaimer: I own peanuts.

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Edward twitched, flicking his ears irritably at the fly that had decided to use him as a landing point. Returning to his book, the fly settled once again on his ear, only to be caught neatly by a swiping paw, which ruthlessly squashed the poor bug into the grain of the table. Edward wiped his hand fastidiously on his trouser, resisting the urge to lick his hand clean.

OoOoo

Ed leant over Hermione's shoulder, peering interestedly at the paragraph she had pointed out to him. He read it quickly, making a noncommittal humming sound, and gestured for her to turn the page. She did so, ignoring the large picture of Godric Gryffindor, and waiting for Ed to finish reading.

After some time had passed, Hermione grew impatient with how slow Ed was being, and she shot a glare over her shoulder at him, only to stop in surprise at the expression on his face. He was staring at the picture with something akin to horrified fascination. He swallowed nervously, licking his lips, and asked in a quavering voice,

"What the hell is a picture of my father doing in your textbook?"

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**Author's Notes:** The CatChimaera!Edward bug caught and bit me, I'm afraid. And the second one is obvisouly more of a HPFMA crossover. With Van Hoenheim as Godric Gryffindor.

Don't ask. My brain works in many mysterious ways, some of them even incomprehensible to myself.


	3. Daugson Childe

Disclaimer: I own peanuts.

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"She's in shock, Winry. Just be understanding."

"Of course I will be! She's been my best friend since I was four! Have a _little_ faith, grandma! Hmph!" With that, Winry turned away from her grandma and walked into the room where Edeline was sitting, staring blankly at the wall.

"So how are you this morning Ed? I've brought you some breakfast, and no trying to get out of drinking the milk!" proclaimed Winry happily as she put the breakfast tray on the sideboard. She turned to Ed with a smile on her face, but her expression quickly turned to concern as Edeline just stared blankly at the wall, lost in a world of her own. She crouched down next to her friend, placing a comforting hand on Ed's knee.

"You're not normally like this. I know it must be hard but you know you can talk to me, right Edeline- _ah_!"

Ed had lashed out, hitting Winry across the face, flaring with sudden and furious anger.

"DON'T CALL ME THAT! DON'T YOU _DARE_ CALL ME THAT! I'M NOT EDELINE ANY MORE, AND I NEVER _WILL_ BE IN _THIS __**DAMN**__ BODY_!"

Ed paused for breath, chest heaving and fists clenched as she tried desperately not to cry. Winry looked up at her childhood friend with tears in her eyes, hurting more for Ed's feelings than because of the bruise that was forming on her cheek. Ed looked at her with horror in her eyes, hands shaking in her lap.

"Oh god, Winry, I'm- I didn't mean-"

"Ed? Is something wrong? I heard shouting- Why is Winry on the floor?"

Al was standing in the doorway, confusion evident in his voice. Ed turned to look at him, letting out a moan of despair as she caught sight of the suit of armour that she had bonded his soul to.

"I'm sorry!" Ed cried, barrelling past her brother and wheeling out of the room, tears flowing down her cheeks.

"…Winry, what happened? What's wrong with sister?" asked Alphonse worriedly.

Winry stared past Al to the corridor where Ed had gone, a frown etched on her face.

"…I don't know, Al," She admitted eventually. "I just don't know."

OoOoo

"Van Hoenheim!"

Hoenheim turned from the grave of his beloved Trisha to look at the person who had shouted, and sucked in a breath of astonishment. A young man wearing a long red coat and black outfit was glaring at him as he scrambled up the steps towards him. His blonde hair was tied back into a short braid, and his gold eyes were full of pain and hate. He reached the top of the stairs and stood there, breathing heavily and clenching his fists.

"Van Hoenheim. I swore I'd hit the next time I saw you." There was a blur of movement and a crashing pain in his jaw and Hoenheim found himself on the ground, looking up into the angry eyes of his son. "But because you're standing in front of mom's grave, I guess I won't hit you with the other hand as well."

"Al, what happened?"

His son reared back in shock at his statement, but understanding quickly flickered across his face and he stood back with a contemptuous sneer on his face.

"I'm not Alphonse," he said, letting out a harsh laugh. "Look what happened because you weren't there to tell us not to."

Hoenheim's eyes widened in shock and he felt like he might have collapsed if he wasn't already on the floor.

"E-Edeline?"

"It's _Edward_ now."

His daug-son-_child_ turned away from him, thrusting their hands into their pockets.

"Don't bother going back to the house. Me and Al burnt it before we went to Central."

Ed didn't turn around, but did stop walking as he stretched a hand out to the side, letting something drop and dangle from it. The sun flashed off of the silver metal and Hoenheim gasped. _A state alchemist's pocket-watch_. _Oh, Ed_…

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**Author's Notes: **Those people who lurk in my LJ will have seen this before. This takes the _what if_ that Edward was born a girl, and then the manga!canon that edward and alphonse's bodies became linked after their failed human transmutation. So Ed has some of Alphonse's male attributes, and some of her own female ones. 


	4. Of Too Much Agatha Christie

Disclaimer: I own peanuts.

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"Ah, here it is!" The young constable brought out a slightly faded and battered folder, the kind you see in police stations all over the country. It was placed on the desk and opened. Inside were a few photographs clipped together, an official report and various witness statements. The photographs were looked at first.

"Here's the man. Just an artist's impression from a witness report, of course. We never did catch him."

"By jove…" whispered Inspector Harris. "If this is our man, then he hasn't aged a day… When was this drawn, again?"

"Oh, let me see now sir… Oh, yes! It was fifteen years ago sir. Then again, I only know that because my dad was one of the officers working on the case. He let me see it while I was in training. Here's the next photo sir."

This next photo was a back view of (presumably) the same young man. He was shirtless and seemed to be in the process of taking off or putting on some kind of robe. Harris hardly believed that what he saw was real. After a good while, he ventured to speak.

"And, what was this drawing based on?"

"His landlady's description, I believe sir. She walked in on him changing when she went to tidy his room, believing that he was out. Apparently she hadn't heard him come back in."

"You're remarkably well informed for someone who only looked at this via another officer, Barnestoft."

The young constable reddened slightly, looking rather sheepish as he explained.

"When I first came into the force, I had all these grand ideas about catching major criminals, you see. And, well… this man seemed the perfect chance to 'prove myself' as it were. So I probably know more than most people in this station sir."

"Hmm."

Harris looked at the sketch again. It really was incredible. Metal covered the entirety of the man's right arm, going up and voer the shoulder. Either he had a medieval gauntlet over his arm or, incredible as it seemed, he had some kind of metal prosthetic. Damned if he knew. Queer sort all round, it seemed. This was voiced aloud, and young Barnestoft jumped in with another piece of trivia.

"Oh, no sir, it can't be a prosthetic. His landlady, who I believe is now deceased, said he could move it just as easily as his other arm. I believe he wore gloves in public and around the house. Perhaps it was some kind of armour?"

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**Author's Notes: **Yes, I have been reading too much Agatha Christie. this is some kind of weird amalagam of the 'ImmortalEd' theory, 'OthersideofGate!Ed' theory and my own twisted 'Ed-goes-to-England-and-gets-implicated-for-a-crime-but-not-caught-and-then-the-police-catch-up-with-him-some-time-later' theory.

Gah, _what_ have I been _eating_...?


	5. Immortal Two

**Disclaimer: **I own peanuts

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"I can't die. Not ever." 

"Me too."

There was shifting of rubble in the direction where Edward had been blasted, and his short figure stood up out of the fallen building. Blood was splattered down one side of his face, plastering his hair to his skull. He smiled somewhat manically and came to stand opposite from Jack, limping slightly.

Toshiko gave a little gasp, her hands over her mouth. She was behind Edward and had seen what the others had not. The back of his skull had been crushed in, but even as she watched, it slowly rounded outwards again, releasing a small amount of blood that trickled down the back of his neck. She turned away, retching at the sight.

"How long do we carry on like this, Jack? Two immortals, stuck in an epic battle for all eternity?"

"You could just surrender!" panted Jack, bringing up his gun and shooting Edward three times. Edward staggered slightly, but brought up his own gun, shooting Jack as well before he had time to react. Both collapsed to the floor, but only one rose again.

Edward walked over to where Jack lay, nudging him with his boot to turn him over. He smiled grimly.

"That's the difference between us, Jack. You die and come back again. Me? I just don't die."

"Put your hands in the air! Do it!"

Still with that grim smile on his face, Edward turned, thrusting his bloody hands into bloodier pockets. He saw who had yelled at him, and his grin widened, baring his teeth.

"Did you not hear me? I can't die, lady, so if you think that little peashooter will faze me then," he clapped his hands with a blaze of alchemic light, "You are dead wrong."

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**Author's Notes:** Torchwood FMA crossover with an immortal Edward and Jack. Couldn't resist the PotC quote :D 


	6. Hundred Thousand Souls

**Disclaimer: **I own peanuts

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"_Nope! God hates us! Even if we go, he'll send us back!"_

How ironic. He'd said those words in jest, once, to the false prophet Cornello. He never meant them. It was just showmanship.

But now it seemed that his words had come true. No death for him, holder of a hundred thousand souls.

It still made him stop and think. All the souls of Xerxes, all the souls of the Amestrian dead; dead from illness, war, murder… made into red water or philosopher's stones, fed to a homunculus…

A hundred thousand souls, trapped in him, keeping him alive until their power ran out.

God.

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**Author's Notes: **Something random again. How I think Edward would be immortal-ish. 


	7. The Shades of Night are Falling

**Disclaimer:** 1 0wn p34nuts.

The young man was a stranger to their town, and stranger still, with wide, round eyes and a blazing golden stare that defied them all. His hair was tied back simply in a braid like a peasant, but he held himself like royalty as he strode through the streets. Whispers followed him where he walked, in and out of shops and clustering about when he stopped for a meal in one of the simple restaurants.

Girls whispered and giggled, hiding behind painted faces and wide, decorated fans. Men stared at his brazen walk and wished they held the same uncaring confidence. Children hid around corners and ran past him laughing, contradictory in themselves. The old woman muttered and gossiped, age giving them safety from recriminations. The old men glanced up occasionally, but played their games of strategy still, playing war with pebbles across a wooden board.

It was at one of these games that the stranger stopped. A frown creased over his molten eyes, golden brows drawing down in an achingly natural gesture. He stood there for a long time, watching the play of black and white soldiers on the board as places filled and emptied, the board gradually filling as the two elders fought for supremacy. Once he made an abortive gesture with his hand, as if to reach out and place a piece for one of the players, but stopped himself before he could do more than twitch.

The loser left and the old man across from him gestured at the board. The young stranger shook his head, but the old man caught his wrist and gestured impatiently.

"Sit down. You young ones never have enough patience."

The young man sat, the ghost of a wry smile appearing. He selected a bowl of stones and something unreadable flickered through his eyes as he glanced down at the white pieces.

The old man went first, placing a stone down on a crosshair near to the side. The young man smiled brazenly, a hint of fangs to his grin and put a stone firmly down on a star. The old man looked at him quietly and shook his head.

"An unusual move."

"I never play as expected. Your turn, old man."

"Hmmm."

They sat in silence for a time, letting the quiet sounds of stones speak for them.

_Klak._

_Klak._

_Klak._

_Klak._

_Klak._

"Why are you here?" asked the old man, setting a stone down that began a trap he had been devising.

"Why is anyone else here? To _live_." There was something harsh and bitter in the young man's voice as he set down a stone where the old man had expected.

"Hn."

"But I suppose you meant why I am here in this town, right?" the stranger smiled easily, openly. It sent shivers up the old man's spine.

"Meaning is open to interpretation-"

"That it is." The old man glared at him for interrupting and the stranger smiled again in easy apology.

_Klak._

_Klak._

"Where did you come from, stranger? And where are you going?"

Another stone on the board and another easy smile.

_Klak._

"I come from behind myself. I go towards the future."

"Hiding behind riddles and obscurities and a false smile will not help you heal, stranger. You cannot regain what you have lost."

Flash of fire and burning golden eyes and the old man knew he had gone too far.

"Everybody is dead. _Everyone_. I alone survived them."

And the old man swallowed and shivered because he knew what the stranger was referring to.

"…You survived the destruction of Amestris."

"Yes." _I stood in the centre of the city and watched it burn around me like the light of a thousand suns._

"And yet you do not look like an Amestrian, stranger, all golden hair and eyes."

A wry smile and the old man breathes a sigh of relief – the intangible danger has passed as the stranger places a new stone on the board.

_Klak._

"I'm told I look like my father. Too much like him for my tastes." _He stood in the centre of Xerxes and was untouched by the death. So I followed in his footsteps, but not by choice, but by accident, by stupid mistake that I should have seen…_

The young man looked down at the board and smiled a wry smile.

"I appear to have lost."

The old man was startled for a moment, looking down at the play of black against white on the wooden board, puzzled – but then he saw it.

Two white stones where there should have been one. A beginners mistake – losing track of turns and placing a stone when it was not his turn. An avoidable mistake, silly simple, but one that cost him the game. There was no doubt that the stranger would have won if not for that.

When the old man looked up from the board, the young man was halfway down the street, hair glowing in the light of the setting sun.

"Stranger!"

He stopped but did not turn, head cocked to hear.

"Give us a name to remember you by!"

The stranger stiffened and then relaxed, a low dark chuckle filling the air. He turned back slightly, grinning over his shoulder.

"Just call me The People's Alchemist. It's about the only title that I still hold proudly."

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Whew. That was a blast to write. And hey, look! I finally updated! BTW, this takes a look at a post-apocalyptic future stemming from recent manga canon (Country-wide array, anyone?)


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